


A Shard of Ice

by Ward_runa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dany faces the aftermath of burning the Tarlys, Dark Daenerys, Gen, I borrowed a line from pan Sapkoswki sue me, Jonerys as an unrequited romance, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Political!Jon, actually don't, but she doesn't give a shit, dany's pov, or fucked-up Daenerys tbh, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ward_runa/pseuds/Ward_runa
Summary: They wasted away. They grew small, and we grew small as well. We weren't extraordinary without them.





	A Shard of Ice

##### Some gifts you can't accept unless you are able to give something in return, something equally valuable. Otherwise, such a gift will slip through your fingers, like a shard of ice melting in a closed fist. There will remain only regret, a sense of loss and guilt.

 _Sword of Destiny_ by _Andrzej Sapkowski_

* * *

Daenerys is alone in her quarters. Wrapped in several layers of fur, she stares into the hearth. The flames dance on thick stone walls, on her silver hair, in her eyes. Once, a thousand years ago, she used to fall asleep in a Dothraki tent while staring into the flames of a brazier, and the sight brought her comfort and tranquility. It seems that she’d lost even this small pleasure these days. The sight of flames doesn’t bring her comfort anymore. As she looks into the fire, there is only one word she can hear. _Dracarys_.

Daenerys once thought that this Valyrian command is the sweetest word of all. When her dragons were still small as kittens, she used to purr the word with the gentleness of a mother teaching her children to speak. When the dragons got bigger, her tone became more demanding, as she was teaching her children obedience. She had screamed the word with joy as she devoted the masters of Astapor to the flames. She said it with a silent smile on her lips as she executed the noblemen of Meereen in the basement of her pyramid. She screamed it in a pitch of fury as she burned the slavemasters’ fleet, she savored it as she destroyed the food stores from the Reach, she whispered it gently when she decided that lord Tarly needed to die.

The first time she said it through tears was when she commanded Drogon to burn Rhaegal’s corpse.

She sat on the back of her beloved child when the ice spear plunged into Rhaegal’s chest. Dany swooped down in an absurd hope to save one of her two remaining dragons, and when she stepped onto the ground, Jon Snow cannoned against her.

“We have to burn it!” he shouted, grabbing her by the lapels. “Now!”

“I won’t,” she said through her teeth, freeing herself from his grasp and making her way towards Rhaegal, through blizzard and snow. The vivid memory of that made Dany fret in her armchair, as she felt that anger once again, the boiling fury inside her. Her child was dying and Jon didn’t care.

“WE HAVE TO!” he fetched up and took her by her shoulders. “Otherwise the Night King will have two of them against our only one!”

“ _My_ only one,” she shouted. “I won’t have my child bur-“

“There is no time,” he stood closer to her so that she could hear him better through the wailing blizzard. In this proximity, Dany felt the warmth of his breath, saw the plea in his dark eyes, and found herself at a loss. “There is no saving Rhaegal. Listen to me. Say your word, get back on Drogon, and get out of here before they take him too.”

Dany was almost crying. She hesitated, but Jon shook her by the shoulders so forcefully that he almost lifted her off the ground.

Drogon soared over their heads, awaiting mother’s orders. Daenerys’ vision got blurred – in the twilight, dead Rhaegal looked like a dark and muzzy hill. No matter how badly she wanted to take one final look at one of her sons, she wasn’t able to. Daenerys had no choice.

And she hated not having a choice.

Much water has flowed under the bridges since then. Drogon has perished as well – Cersei Lannister made sure of that. He too died here, on this strange land, when Daenerys flew him to the White Harbour to fight the Golden Company. Several times before Daenerys had to pull out the spears that her enemies tossed at him. She unmounted him to do it once again when Drogon suffered his final blow. The spear had struck him right in the eye, and then… darkness. Daenerys regained her consciousness in a saddle, in Ser Jorahs arms. She didn’t even get a chance to take one last look at her beloved son, her strongest, her most fierce.

“The dragons were my children,” she told Jon afterward. “The only children I could ever have.” That night, she curled up at his side, trying to fall asleep in his warmth, but couldn’t sleep at all. She wanted to weep, to cry herself to sleep, but she saw the sunrise with dry eyes and emptiness in her head.

Dany lost track of time. She should have attended to the warfare at hand, her plans for the future and her further strategy, yet all she could think about was her grief. A century and a half ago, the Targaryens have already lost the last bits of their power, they were left defenseless without their dragons, and now… Now everything repeats itself. The wheel of history keeps spinning, taking Dany with it – the very wheel she once swore to break.

_I was wrong. The dragons do not define us, our legacy does. Rhaegar had no dragons, yet people loved him and wanted him as their king. I am just as good._

She still has one hundred thousand Dothraki and eight thousand of true Unsullied. A colossal army. The biggest in Westeros and in the world. Should the Night King take half of it before he perishes, that would still leave the odds in Daenerys’ favor. All she has to do is outlive him.

She shuddered in her armchair as the door closed with a silent thud. Jon graced her with a short nod, the meaning of which Dany failed to identify, and fell onto the bed with his leathers, wool, and his boots on. Daenerys straightened herself in her armchair and stared at the back of his head, awaiting news. Jon kept silent, and somewhere outside a wolf howled. The sound meant that the night was about to give way to morning.

Holding onto her furs with both hands, Daenerys stood up and took a few steps towards the bed, laying down next to him to stroke his hair. Jon muffled something into his pillow.

“Jon…”

“I’ve got two hours to sleep.”

“This isn’t right. You have to rest.”

“Exactly,” Jon lifted his face from the pillow, gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and let his head fall back onto the pillow, now facing away from Dany.

Jon Snow is stripped of any egoism. Daenerys knows well enough that a ruler must share not only the joys of his subjects, but sorrows as well, but she always saw such kind of self-sacrifice as unworthy of a good king. A king distributes his responsibilities, a king appoints ministers and advisors, his job is finding the right people for certain duties. Jon does everything by himself. He needs to be everywhere and keep all his matters under control.

“You’re overextending yourself.”

Jon made a strange sound and then started to snore silently.

Even his snoring didn’t irritate her. She moved closer, wrapped her arms around his ribs and closed her eyes in yet another attempt to fall asleep. His scent reminded her of the house with the red door, yet she dreamt of a tiny dragon skull and the grim ruins of Dragonpit. She dreamt of getting on Drogon's back and soaring up into the skies, enemy troops beneath her, tiny like ants, all of them mixed up: the Lannister army, the Golden Company, Astapor slavemasters, mercenaries, all of them boiling inside their armor, burning alive and regretting of ever crossing her path. Daenerys hold onto the thorns on Drogon’s neck, hot as volcanic stones, and there was nothing sweeter than this invincibility.

She woke up crying, in a hot sweat. Jon was standing in the corner, rinsing his face with cold water. As he heard her whimpers, he stared at her, concerned, but didn’t say a word.

“Where are you going?” Dany’s voice was low and deep-chested. “I want to go with you.”

He paused, tightening his swordbelt.

“To a war council,” he said, looking closely at ruffed up and half-awake Daenerys. “Are you sure?..”

“I’m sure,” she snarled and got out from under her furs. “Wait for a bit”.

Is she sure? What kind of question is that? Did he rule her out, that soon? No. The mother of dragons has no dragons left, but that doesn’t mean she’s useless now. _I have never been nothing,_ she recalled. The dragons brought her victories, troops, worshippers, they made her invincible, but they did give her a fair share of trouble as well. Maybe she brought them into this world only to gain her followers’ loyalty? Maybe they weren’t meant to survive her conquest?

_If I look back I am lost._

The war council was held in the Great Hall. It was a little too crowded for Danys liking: sir Davos was here, all of Jons family, some fat boy, Tyrion, Grey Worm, Rakharo, sir Jorah, a few wildlings, Brienne of Tarth, and…

“What is he doing here?” Daenerys stopped in her tracks, quashing her desire to grab Jon by the arm. From the furthest corner of the hall, there was a golden-haired man in black armor, looking right at her. The last time she saw him, he tried to kill her.

“I’m helping you in the war against my sister,” he said, and it wasn’t long until Dany put two and two together and took a step back.

“Get him out of here, sir Jorah,” she said through her teeth. “Get him out of here and make sure he stays a mile away from me.”

Silence fell on the Great Hall: sir Jorah exchanged a look with Jon, who in his turn looked at his sister – the one with auburn hair. Sansa Stark slightly rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. She was about to say something, but Kingslayer was the first to break the silence.

“Should Lady Sansa order me to, I will leave, but otherwise I’ll have no other choice but to stay.”

Daenerys couldn’t understand the meaning of this. The man who killed her father swore fealty to Jon's sister?

“Leave us, sir Jaime,” said Lady Stark.

After Jaime Lannister left the Great Hall, Dany stood beside Jon, eyeing the gathered. Something is very wrong.

“Let’s begin with…” Jon started, but Dany interrupted him.

“Will someone explain the meaning of this?” She was mainly addressing Tyrion, who, being his usual self, hung his head. “How come the man who killed my father and tried to kill me is a welcomed guest? Why has he been allowed to stay?!”

Daenerys looked searchingly at Tyrion, at lady Sansa, at Jon, but the answer came from the least expected person – Brienne of Tarth.

“Jaime Lannister has turned on his sister,” she announced. “As soon as he found out that she won’t be helping us. He made the right call.”

“He tried to _kill_ me,” Dany repeated, tightening her fists.

“Me, too,” echoed Bran Stark in his strange, toneless voice. “He pushed me through the window when I was nine.”

“Do you understand that he is the reason why my house died out?” Daenerys was boiling. “It’s not safe to keep him in these walls!”

“ENOUGH!” Jon shouted, slamming the table with a heavy mug. “Jaime Lannister stays with us! We will not send him back to Cersei, and we will not refuse his help. He won’t take any hostile actions against my family or… Your Grace.”

“Jon.” Dany caught his stare and looked back, pinning him down. There could be no way he didn’t support her in this. Can’t he see the danger? Northern fool…

“I said _enough_ ,” he repeated, steely. “That’s not why we’re here. We’re here, because one hundred thousand Dothraki, eight thousand Unsullied, fifteen hundred wildlings, and the entire North is starving to death as we speak. If we don’t solve this, the Night King won’t even have to fight us – the moment all these people die of starvation, he will reanimate them and march south. This is why I believe he delays his attack on us. He’s waiting for us to die on our own accord.”

Daenerys startled.

“You’ve never told me any of this.”

“You didn’t ask,” he answered without looking at her.

“What’s our strategy?” Daenerys wrapped her arms around her body, eyeing everyone present. Sansa Stark cleared her throat.

“I’ve sent ravens to the Riverlands and the Vale, but I’m afraid we won’t get any help from the remaining lords of the Vale and our uncle Brynden. White Harbor is taken by the Golden Company, for one thing, which makes any shipment from the Vale problematic. Secondly, the Neck is also held by Cersei, which cuts us off of Riverlands. My uncle Brynden still holds Riverrun, and as far as I know, he’s got enough food stored, but given his situation, he won’t be sharing any of it with us, and I don’t blame him. Contributing to the problem, neither the Vale nor Riverrun are getting any shipments from the Reach, which makes them rely on their own crops only.”

“What about the Iron Islands?” Daenerys lowered above the map.

“What about them?” Sansa blinked.  “The Islands were never known for their fertile soil. The only thing Theon can get us is a couple of wagons of salted fish, but I’m afraid that won’t be enough.”

“So what are we living off of right now?” Dany asked.

“Our own last crops,” Sansa sighed. “But the food stores we’ve gathered are enough for the Northerners only. I wasn’t expecting an army this big, I confess.”

“We need the Reach,” Dany concluded, pointing right at it on the map. “There must be some stores left. I only burned what was meant for Cersei’s army.”

Lifting her head, Dany caught some worried glances. Sansa’s jaw slightly dropped, Bran looked at Dany closely, never blinking. She felt unease growing inside her.

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Tyrion reluctantly. “In order to get the stores, you have to ask someone for them. There is no one left to ask in the Reach.”

“There’s my father,” said the fat boy suddenly. “He was the first bannerman of the Tyrells, and save for them, his house is the most influential one in the Reach. I’m sure he’ll listen if we tell him what’s going on here.”

“I’m afraid he won’t”, said Tyrion silently.

“Why not?” the lad continued. “He was never fond of me, but…”

“She burned him.” Bran Stark quoth, never taking his eyes off Daenerys.

She straightened and stared back at him, not knowing what is going on.

“Whom?” – she managed to ask.

“Randyll Tarly. _I’m not beheading anyone. Lord Randyll Tarly, Dickon Tarly, I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of my name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die. Dracarys._ Him and his son. He was afraid, his son. That entire day he was afraid. It was his first real battle. Against a horde of the Dothraki and a dragon. He took his father’s hand before they both died.”

That memory was blurred in Daenerys’ mind. She remembered clearly, though, that after Randyll Tarly and his son turned to ash, those who left bent their knees.

She looked back at the chubster. She remembered Jon hugging him the day they reached Winterfell. She regretted not asking his name that day.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said calmly. “But that was necessary.”

His chin shivered.

“For what?”

“Randyll Tarly refused to abandon Cersei Lannister. He stayed loyal to her until the end. He didn’t bend the knee.”

“Why would he?” Tarly raised his voice, and Dany saw the tears glimmering in his brown eyes. He was holding something in his hands, and the knuckles of his fat hands turned white.

“I offered him a choice. He made it,” that wasn’t the answer to his question, but still. “I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and he rebelled against me.”

“No you aren’t”, Tarly spat, teary-eyed. “Want to see the true heir? Take a look at your right, you’ll see the legitimate son of Rhaegar. How do you like him? Any other excuses?”

At that, he glared at her angrily, turned his back and left the hall.

Daenerys stood transfixed, but she did take notice of the fact that none of the Starks looked surprised. Bran, Sansa, Arya, Jon – what Tarly said wasn’t news to them. Jon froze.

“Is this true?” she asked silently. “What he said… Is that…”

Jon looked up, and Daenerys failed to recognize him at first.

“Come”, he said simply, and his voice sounded alien to her as well. She followed him towards the exit, and when sir Jorah moved to follow them as well, she stopped him with a hand movement.

“I don’t understand,” Daenerys had to raise her voice when they went outside. The blizzard was so strong that she hardly heard her own thoughts, much less her voice. “You said you were the son of Eddard Stark.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon muttered.

“Yes, it does!” Dany insisted. “There was only one son born to my brother. Gregor Clegane smashed his head against a wall. What was Tarly saying?”

“Sam,” Jon growled, stopping suddenly and towering over her. “His name is Sam. And he is my best friend. Randyll hated him. But Dickon… Sam loved Dickon.”

“I’m sorry, I am, but…”

“For the love of gods, shut your mouth!”

“I beg your pardon?!” Daenerys shouted so loud that her throat ached. Jon grabbed her by the hand and led her up the stairs, atop the castle wall. She tried to free herself from his grasp, but it was too strong. He didn’t let go of her when they reached the top. An unpleasant feeling stirred inside of her, but it was gone when Dany looked where Jon was pointing towards.

An enormous camp lay before them, reaching the horizon. Hundreds of thousands of tents with little to no movement between them. Squinting, Daenerys saw pale, hungry faces. Those closer to castle walls glared at her, someone even spat at the sight of her. She froze.

“Think about this instead,” Jon suggested. “They’ve been starving for weeks. My cousin does her best to keep them from eating the northerners or their own. As you were busy mourning your children, your people were freezing and starving.”

Daenerys shook her head – it seemed like Jon avoided the more important topic on purpose.

“Did you or did you not know?” she insisted. “Did you know all the way that you have a better claim to the Throne?”

“I don’t give two shits about the throne,” he wailed. “I don’t give a damn about the bloody chair. Gods, Daenerys, here you go again!”

“What in the world do you want of me? Do you think I can feed them all in a snap? What can I do?”

“I don’t know!” he shrugged. “You’re the queen they chose. Take care of them, would you?”

“You brought us here!” she lost her temper. “And you stand here, asking me to do the impossible, though it was YOU who brought us to this godforsaken barren land! Do something!”

“Godforsaken land? Listen to yourself! Wasn’t it you who wanted to rule over this ‘godforsaken land’ so badly?”

“I’ve lost my dragons because of you!” she exploded, pushing his chest. “I agreed to help you! Viserion died for nothing! Drogon died for nothing! Rhaegal died for nothing! How could you…”

“How could YOU!” he shouted, grabbing her shoulders. “For nothing? Gods. You’re more sorry for these beasts than for the people they died protecting.”

Daenerys couldn’t bear any more of this. The snow flew right in her face, and she broke under the weight of what has happened to her. All her children are dead. Her bloodriders are dying. Her lover acts unrecognizable.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, and she moved forward, burying her face in the fur of his cloak. She was shivering, but Jon didn’t bother to even stroke her back. He stood motionless.

“We’ll find a way to fix all this,” she murmured. “You and me. Together. Tell me one thing: did Sam tell the truth?”

“Aye. He told the truth.” Daenerys didn’t like his tone, and she took a step back to take a good look at him.

Jon Snow looked exactly like the day they first met – like something died under his nose. There was no trace of the Jon who looked right into her soul as they made love on a ship heading to White Harbor.

And then it clicked inside of her. If she marries him, she’ll be no more than a wife to the king. Her place will not be on the Iron Throne, but right next to it.

“You swore fealty to me,” she said carefully, but with pride. “You called me your queen.”

“Not remotely true. I said, _How about my queen?_ Not long before I took off to Dragonstone, I handed the North to Sansa. When we first met, I was the king of my boots, at best.”

“Enough with your riddles,” there wasn’t any softness to her voice left, not a trace of caution. She has had enough of this, of his games – she wanted sincerity, she wanted the truth. “You plan on taking the Throne from me, is that it? I demand the truth.”

“Truth,” said Jon, readjusting his gloves and taking a painful look at the Dothraki camp. “Is a shard of ice.”

“Enough,” she pleaded. “Enough of this. You don’t want the throne – good. But there was no need to hide your parentage from me, Jon. I love you.”

“Must be painful,” he said bluntly, and Daenerys felt something crucial breaking inside of her. “You have committed a crime, Daenerys. One that isn’t mine to pardon you for. And since there’s nothing you can do about our current state, it appears that our alliance is no longer beneficial for my people. I’ll give you a horse and some food. Go take your Throne. You may try to take your army as well, but I doubt they’ll follow you once more. If you come back to the North, I’ll have your head.”

He left, and Daenerys regretted not carrying a knife. His threat did nothing but infuriating her completely. If he believes he could simply seize her and banish her from here, he’s deeply mistaken. It’s been a long time since Daenerys Targaryen stopped fearing poisoners, assassins and liars – the Unsullied and the Dothraki guard her with their lives.

Yet as the Stark soldiers take her, none of the Dothraki messing about below the castle walls bat an eye.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely TheEagleGirl for beta-reading!


End file.
